


Janus

by Strange_Soulmates



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Courtship, Horcruxes, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-02-16 08:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13050180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_Soulmates/pseuds/Strange_Soulmates
Summary: Lord Voldemort is up to something.  Thomas Slytherin is certain of it.  His attacks lately have been nothing more than a distraction, an attempt to divert attention from his true target.  A target Tom is determined to discover and use to finally control his counterpart.  Upon meeting Harry Potter, Tom knows he has found his answer. Tom soon finds himself obsessed when Harry proves unpredictable, determined to solve the mystery that Harry has become.  He soon becomes convinced that Harry is the solution not just to the problem of Voldemort, but the key his own political aspirations, and the end of his search for a suitable spouse.Harry Potter is far from happy with the situation, but he has little choice in the matter.  And the mystery of the connection between Voldemort and Tom Slytherin is too intriguing for him to leave alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know. Another WIP. But I just couldn't help myself. This was originally going to be my Tomarry big bang, but I wanted to post something complete and it quickly grew out of control.

Voldemort was up to something.

Tom had suspected it for weeks, but now he was certain.  There was no other explanation for the man's behavior.  Voldemort was irrational, erratic, driven by his desires with no impulse control to speak of.  If he wanted to do something, he did it.  Murder, mayhem - it didn't matter.  He never had a impulse he failed to indulge.

On the surface, it seemed as if nothing had changed.  Attacks still occurred almost nightly, terror being spread through the wizarding world at the man's antics.  

 _Dark Lord Voldemort Strikes Again_ the daily prophet proclaimed, a picture of the Dark Mark in all it's ominous glory displayed below.

All to be expected, given the man involved. Not making headlines would have been more suspicious.  But it was the nature of the attacks that had Tom convinced all was not as it appeared.

For the past three weeks, all of Voldemort's attacks had been incredibly public.  There had been an attack on Diagon Alley, one on Hogsmede.  A handful of very public battles between the Death Eaters and the Aurors outside the "attacks".  All showy, all designed to attract attention.

All incredibly pointless.

There was a method to the man's madness, a purpose behind every ploy.  These attacks?  These attacks had clearly been meant as distractions.  For the Aurors, the Order, yes.  But for Tom as well.

This merited further investigation.  Anything Voldemort thought was worth hiding was something worth knowing, and knowing quickly.

Tom left the daily prophet open on his desk and crossed his office.  A casual wave of his wand had a blaze roaring to life in the fireplace.  Tom grabbed a pinch of Floo powder form the contain he kept on the mantel, tossing it into the fire.  When the flames had turned a distinct emerald green, he lowed himself to his knees.

"Number twelve, Grimwald Place," he said clearly before placing his head into the flames.

Tom endured the feeling of his head spinning thorugh the flames with ease of practice.  When the spinning ceased, he found himself staring at the familiar sight of the visitor's parlor of Grimwald Place.  He found himself frowning at the decor.  Tom had no issues with the darker nature of the objects scattered around the room.  Far from it.  Still, there was something to be said for taste.  He would never have allowed his own manor to be decorated thus.

There was a pop, and Regulus' hous elf appeared.

"Fetch Regulus for me," Tom ordered, not bothing to hide his distain for the disgusting creature.

"Yes sir, Mister Slytherin, sir," the creature said, head bobbing awkwardly before it disappeared once again with a  _pop_.

A moment was all it took before Tom heard hurried footsteps making their way down the hall.  A moment later Regulus Black appeared, and Tom studied his appearance critically.  His long dark hair was carefully styled, swept back to reveal dark eyes in a somewhat gaunt face with sharp cheekbones.  His robes were impeccable, his posture perfect.  To anyone else, he would have seemed the perfect pureblood aristocrat, unruffled by anything.

Tom was not anyone else.

Regulus' posture was  _too_ perfect.  His steps were stiff, devoid of any grace.  His entire body held carefully to avoid injuries, Tom was certain.  His face looked even more haunted than usual.  He'd been injured, and badly.  Either he had yet to be healed, or magical remedies were not enough to stop the pain entirely.

"Mister Slytherin," Regulus said formally.

Tom didn't waste time with pleasantries.

"Come,  Regulus," he ordered.  "Now.  We have much to discuss."

Tom pulled back, not waiting for Regulus' response.  He knew without a doubt that he would be obeyed.  Regulus knew better than to keep him waiting.   Tom Riddle was not a man to be crossed.

He returned to his desk and stared down at the paper in front of him, tapping his fingers against his desk as he turned over the facts as he knew them.  What was Voldemort trying so desperately to hide?  And why was he so determined to keep it from Tom?  Exactly what was it that had happened three weeks ago that had caused all of this?

Tom felt the brush of the wards against his magic as they allowed a visitor entry, and a fraction of a second later Regulus appeared in front of him with a small popping sound.

Regulus gave a polite bow in greeting, but Tom waved him off. Now was not the time for social niceties. Now was the time for answers. He only had so many hours to work the problem before Voldemort emerged once more.

"Tell me," Tom ordered as Regulus eased himself carefully into the seat on the other side of the desk.

"He's been intent on drawing out the Order," Regulus shared. "He keeps his own council, but that's been his only aim of late."

Tom frowned, eyes narrowed as he considered the issue. The Order opposed Voldemort and everything he was trying to accomplish through his campaign of terror. Still, to fight them head-on wasn't in character. Not without a clear advantage.

"Thoughts?" Tom asked.

Regulus shook his head.

"Their defiance has always irritated him and he's no doubt been planning to eliminate them since they first opposed him, but the goal before now has always been to destroy them at the source. Not like this"

"So what changed?" Tom muttered, more to himself than to Regulus.

There was something. Something there, just beyond his grasp. Just a little more and he would have it, he was certain.

"Tell me about the target," Tom ordered Regulus.

"There wasn't one," Regulus said.

That had Tom's attention.

"You said it was an attack against the Order," Tom said, eyes narrowed. "When he attacks them, there's always a target." 

Their headquarters, a member's ancestral home, the loved ones of those who dared to defy him. There was always a purpose, an aim. A goal. Voldemort was violent, but he channeled his impulses productively for the most part.

"No target," Regulus said again. "He just ordered us to do as much damage as possible, and to engage the Order when they arrived."

He wanted to lure them out. All of them. Lure them away from something.

Was it something the Order was protecting? Something they possessed? Or did he just need to conceal his true goal from them as much as he needed to keep it from Tom?

"He fought?" Tom asked.

"The first time, yes," Regulus said simply.

Tom froze.

"A time turner?" he asked. "Voldemort got his hands on a time turner?"

"He has someone in the department of mysteries," Regulus confirmed. "I don't know who, but that's how he got it."

Tom let his finger fall even harder against the wood, the only sign of his irritation he allowed himself to show. 

A distraction. All of it had just been a large spectacle, to keep attention off whatever Voldemort's true goal was.

"How long?" Tom snapped.

Regulus just blinked at him.

"How long has he had the time turner?" Tom said shortly.

"Last night was the first I saw of it," Regulus answered.

If he'd been staging distractions on his first loop before using the second to pursue whatever it was that he was after, then the Death Eaters would have seen it before. At least those of the inner circle, like Regulus.

"He wasn't there at Diagon or Hogsmeade," Tom said.

It wasn't a question.  It didn't need to be a question.  Tom knew the answer already.  Regulus' nod served only as confirmation.

The man was after something.  But what?

Once he was certain he had everything he could use from the man, using Legilimency to ensure nothing had been missed, Tom dismissed Black.  After thanking him for his service by healing the wounds he'd incurred during the battle.  Loyalty was always rewarded.  Especially when there was such a risk of it being divided.

With Regulus gone, Tom turned his attention to the wall of his private office, raising his wand, channeling his magic through it as he moved it through a series of complicated patterns known only to himself.  Lips curled in distaste, he spoke the password known only to himself.

"Sesame, open" he said, fighting to keep himself from cringing as he did so.

A muggle bastardization of a powerful revealing spell, one that was still used by curse-breakers and tomb-raiders to the day.  Still, he knew that Voldemort would never permit the muggle's profaned version of magic to pass his lips.  There was no fear that the monster would discover what Tom kept secret from him.

Ritual performed, Tom stepped through the wall and into the space beyond.

It was a large, spacious room. One side contained a potions lab, stocked with ingredients from the mundane to the arcane and obscure.  If the ministry of magic were to discover these potions stores, it would be enough to sentence Tom to Azkaban for two hundred years.  The other side of the room contained a worktable, covered in open tomes, scraps of parchment covered in notes, and several rare, enchanted artifacts scattered carelessly across the surface.  Bookshelves crammed full of works took up all but one section of wall around the worktable.

It was to this last section that Tom strode, coming to a stop in front of the wall to stare up at the intricate web he had created.  Pieces of parchment, maps, pages from books, and articles from the prophet papered the wall.  Tom had highlighted certain words and phrases with his magic, different threads of magic connecting different documents to each other.

Three weeks. This strange behavior had been going on three weeks.  So, what had changed three weeks ago?  What was it that had caused Voldemort's priorities to shift so suddenly?

Tom stared at the mess in front of him, tracing the patterns back.  There.  The attack on the Potters.  That had been just over three weeks ago.  At the time, Tom had thought nothing of it.  He had merely made note of it, as he did of all the Dark Lord's activities.  Looking on it now, with fresh eyes, Tom could see what he hadn't been able to then.

The raid on the Potter's manor had been the last one before Voldemort's behavior had begun to change.

He had a timeline now.  Whatever had happened, it had happened between that attack and the next.  A two day window to comb over, looking for whatever it was that had been the catalyst of this new behavior.

"You're hiding something," Tom spoke aloud, walking forward until he stood in front of the articles,  "And I will discover what it is, Dark Lord."

He let his finger rest atop the picture of the Potters from the profit article.

"And I know just where to start."

* * *

 

Tom was the head of the Dark Wizard Deterrent Squad, created specifically to tackle the problem of Voldemort.  At first, he thought he would simply keep the rest of the department ineffectually chasing their tails, giving Voldemort room to accomplish their goals.  But it became very clear that the Dark Lord had his own agenda, one that was counterproductive to Tom's own ambitions **.**    The Committee had become an unexpected boon of a resource.  One Tom could use to keep track of Voldemort while he was...indisposed.

At the morning meeting, after he was finished eviscerating his staff for their inability to discover anything of use, Tom informed his staff that he was going to be paying the Potters a visit and would be out of the office for the rest of the day.  No one so much as batted an eye.

"Would you like company, Mr. Slytherin, sir?" His secretary, Percy Weasley asked.

Tom did his best to hide his grimace at the thought. Weasley was from a pureblood family, for all that they had the reputation for being muggle lovers. Still, Weasley was driven and determined, eager to prove himself in any way possible. The smallest bit of praise, of assistance, would be enough to ensure his loyalty for the rest of time.

Tom had the connections to ensure that loyalty. He'd chosen the boy as his secretary for a number of reasons. First, it would ensure that Weasley would always remember Tom as the man who had opened the doors for him. It gave Tom access to his family, who Tom was certain were members of the Order. A spy among their ranks was nothing but useful. The boy was eager to prove himself useful, and would do anything Tom asked. The reality of Weasley's connections would do a great deal to help improve Tom's reputation on the muggleborn front. Weasley's hire had been a political move through and through, and one that had worked better than Tom could have imagined.

But the thought of spending an entire afternoon with the boy was appalling.

"I appreciate the offer, Mr. Weasley," Tom said with a smile he knew looked sincere. "But I need someone to manage the office while I'm out."

Weasley puffed up exactly the way Tom had known he would. Tom had to fight to keep himself from rolling his eyes. The boy was far to easy to manipulate. There was no sport in it at all.

"I'll keep things organized while your out, Mr. Slytherin."

"Thank you, Weasley. Would you inform the Potters I'm on my way?"

"Of course, sir."

With that, Tom turned on his heel, the familiar feeling of being squeezed far too tight through a space far too small engulfing him for a moment. The sensation was over as soon as it had begun, and Tom found himself standing outside the gates of Potter manor. There was a lion in the center of the gate, and it was eyeing him suspiciously.

"Thomas Slytherin," Tom said to the gate. "Head of the Dark Wizard Deterrent Squad. I'm hear to speak with the Potters about the terrible attack three weeks ago."

"Identification?" the lion growled at him.

Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out the pocket watch that all members of the ministry were given. He showed the face to the lion, bearing the crest of the ministry of magic. The lion eyed it suspiciously for a moment before it nodded.

"Mr. James Potter and Mrs. Lily Potter are not at home, but their son, Mr. Harry Potter is present. Would you prefer to call again when the entire family is available?"

Not at all. The situation was actually perfect. Tom would have the chance to explore the property freely, with only one person to ensnare. The Potter's son was only twenty years old, Tom knew from his research on the family.  A Gryffindor. It would be a simple enough matter to manipulate him.  Tom would be able to explore the house and the grounds to discover if it was perhaps something on the property that had caught the monster's attention.  The boy, too, was bound to be far less circumspect than his parents.  While they were members of the Order, their son was not.  He would not feel the same need to keep secrets as his parents.

He would talk to Mr. and Mrs. Potter, of course.  But not now.  Not here.

"I will call on Mr. and Mrs. Potter later," Tom informed the lion.  "They are both at the ministry, I presume?"

The lion nodded in acknowledgement.

"Very well.  The young Mr. Potter is expecting you," the lion said before stilling, and the gate swung open.

Tom took the long walk up the drive at a fairly brisk pace.  It wouldn't do to keep Potter waiting.  Still, he took the time to observe the estate.  From what Regulus had told him, the battle had raged on the lawn for the most part, while a small group had managed to penetrate the manor itself. Looking at the grounds, he could see the evidence.  The large trees bore scars from spells.  The ground was scorched in places, and he could see gaps in the design where he was certain trees had once stood.  Still, there was nowhere near as much damage as their should have been.  Regulus had described the raid to him, and had made it clear that the Potter's grounds had been laid waste to during the raids. 

Tom approached the front of the manor and found beautiful, perfectly tended gardens around the front door, as well as a clear facade.  Not just the grounds then, but the house as well.  Someone was slowly undoing the damage that had been done.

Tom doubted it was James Potter, from what he'd heard about the man.  For all that the man was a pureblood, he had little use for the responsibilities that came along with the family name.  Before Voldemort had begun attacking the Order, the family hadn't lived in the manor but in Godric's hollow.

Lily Potter was a stronger possibility.  She was skilled in the kind of work that would have been required to undo the damage that had been done.  But Tom wasn't certain when she would have had the time.  The Committee on Experimental Charms was quite a commitment.  Lily Potter apparently split her time between Spell Creation and investigation.  From what Tom had heard, she was quite skilled at both.

Which left the youngest Potter.  Considering the way his father had no doubt raised him, Tom found himself surprised.  He had expected the same disregard for familial responsibility that James Potter had shown.  Yet if he was responsible for the upkeep of the grounds and the garden, then Tom would need to adjust his expectations.  Perhaps the youngest Potter was more aware of tradition than his father.

Tom found himself curious about the youngest Potter.  The boy was not living up to his expectations.  Perhaps this conversation would be more interesting than he had anticipated.

Tom mounted the stairs and rapped three times on the door. It was only a moment before the door opened and he found himself staring down at a house elf. That in and of itself was not unexpected, but he found his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him more fully.

The elf was dressed. Not in a clean towel or a pillowcase or some other article bearing the family crest. No, this elf was clothed.

A free elf. Tom had never actually seen one of the things before. Not just a free elf, but a free elf working in a manor. Tom didn't know what to make of the situation.

"Mister Slytherin sir bes coming in now," the elf, dressed in a pair of mismatched socks. "Dobby bes taking him to master Harry Potter."

Tom hadn't felt this wrong footed since the first time he had set foot in the wizarding world, and even then it hadn't taken him long to recover and adapt. A free elf, though...

Tom set aside the contemplation for a later time. As unusual as it was, Voldemort wouldn't have cared one whit about a house elf, free or otherwise. Tom needed to discover exactly what it was that had happened here. Needed to discover if it was something here that had caught Voldemort's eye.

The interior damage was much more obvious than the exterior. Not a surprise, given the complicated layer of spells and wards that family manors accumulated over the generations that the family lived within it's walls. Repairing a manor was always delicate, complicated work. You needed to understand every layer of magic that coated the house. Most hired experts to do the work.

But an expert would have been finished by now. Which meant that it was someone in the household who was working to repair the damage. Most wizards and witches lacked the power and the sensitivity required to make such delicate, intricate repairs.

James Potter had the power, but not the sensitivity. His wife had both, and knew how to use them. It was a necessary part of her work. But again, Tom wasn't certain when she would have had time to undertake the project. Even if she had, knowing her skill and expertise, Tom would have imagined that the work would have been completed by now. Which once again left young Harry Potter. Perhaps this meeting would be more fruitful than he had expected.

The elf showed him to what was clearly a visitor's parlor to Tom's practiced eye. Designed to impress while keeping those who dropped by from the more private areas of the house. There was a large fireplace, bracketed by bookshelves on either side. In the center of the room was what Tom was almost certain was a magic carpet, for all that they had been outlawed in Britain several decades earlier. There were sofas and chairs arranged on the carpet, and a small coffee table that was already set out with scone and tea.

The man who had been sitting in one of the chairs rose as Tom entered.

"Mr. Slytherin," the young man said with a polite smile, crossing the room and offering his hand. "I'm Harry Potter."

Tom would have known who he was even without the introduction. He had the same build as his father, tall and lean, with the same untamable mass of dark hair. He too wore round glasses, as his father did, but Harry's frames were thin and gold, unlike the more obvious ones preferred by James. His eyes, however were no doubt from his mother.

Still, for all that the features were familiar, there was something about the way that they came together that was particularly pleasing. James Potter was objectively handsome, just as Lily Potter was beautiful, but they'd never appealed to him on anything more than an aesthetic level. That was not at all the case with their son.

Tom ignored his attraction with ease. It wouldn't do to be distracted in this moment, and Tom knew that at soon as the boy revealed how stupid and mundane he was, it would vanish. Even if the lust remained, he would have no use for the boy outside the bedroom and would grow bored of him quickly. Still, there was the possibility of enjoying the man for at least a few nights. It was best to keep all options open.

"Mr. Potter," Tom said, giving the man his most charming grin before Tom took his offered hand.

He was briefly tempted to turn the man's hand over and press a kiss to the back of it, instead of shaking it as Potter had clearly intended. Still, the temptation was short lived. It was too bold a move to make so soon especially when Tom was unsure how long his own interest would last.

He settled instead for a firm handshake, though he allowed his hand to linger a moment or two longer than necessary, dragging his fingers along potters palm when he finally relinquished his grip.

Potter took his hand back, a brief touch of his thumb against his palm the only sign he gave that he had noticed.  As subtle as it was, it was enough.  Tom didn't miss anything.  Had Potter turned his back, he would have smirked.

Instead, Tom took a seat when Potter gestured him towards the chair.

"Would you like anything?" Potter asked him, a polite smile still fixed firmly on his face.  "Tea? Something to eat?"

Tom waved off the requests and settled further back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other

"Thank you for your hospitality, but I shall have to decline.  I've only just come from a breakfast meeting."

"Of course," Potter said, settling into his chair once more before turning his full attention to Tom.  "Now, Mr. Slytherin, what can I do for you?  Unfortunately, both my parents are engaged in the ministry, but they will be home after six if you were hoping to speak with them."

It was subtle, but Potter had angled his head so that the reflection of the firelight off his glasses such that his eyes were partially obscured.  Not enough to truly block Tom's view of lovely green eyes, but just enough to ensure that he could not probe Potter's mind.

Tom sat up straighter, shifting the angle just enough that he could use Legilimency if he so desired.  He hadn't intended to use the mind arts, but now that they had been denied the insight, he could help but wonder what it was that Potter was trying to hide.  Tom seriously doubted that it was anything but accidental, but he was a suspicious person by nature.  As soon as Tom had finished his adjustments, Potter tilted his head slightly, causing the reflected fire to obscure his eyes once more.

Mr. Potter, it seemed was full of surprises.

"No, Mr. Potter," Tom said.  "You are exactly who I wished to speak with."

"Very well," Potter said, appearing at ease and composed.  But his jaw had clenched for a moment before he spoke, in response to the declaration.  "What can I help you with? I don't wish to keep you."

Interesting.  For all that Tom was now eager to speak with Potter, it seemed that Potter did not return the sentiment.  Unusual.  Tom knew his own charms.  He knew he was an attractive man, a fact he used to his own advantage often.  He was brilliant, powerful both magically and politically, well-connected, and from an ancient and revered family.   Thomas Slytherin was used to people attempting to attract his attention, not doing everything they could to try and avoid him.  

Potter had captured his interest.  Tom had no plans to leave until he had discovered exactly what it was he wished to hide.

"Nonsense," Tom said with a smile.  "I'm exactly where I should be, Mr. Potter."

Again, Potter's jaw clenched.  Tom allowed his smile to morph into a smirk for a moment before once again donning his mask of politeness.  It wouldn't do to spook the boy.  Not until he'd gotten everything he wanted.

"Now," Tom continued.   "I am the Undersecretary for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and head the Dark Wizard Deterrent Squad. **.** I am here to follow up on the attack on your manor that occurred three weeks ago.  It is my hope that what information you have to offer will allow us to better prevent such attacks by Voldemort in the future.  The ministry also wishes to convey our deepest regrets that such a terrible thing was allowed to happen on our watch.  We will, of course, be willing to contribute to the cost of repairing the damage."

Potter waved him off.

"While we appriciate the ministry's offer, we are more than capable of repairing the damage ourselves.  The Potter coffers are plentiful."

"Magical assistance, then," Tom offered, keeping his eyes fixed on Potter, looking for any sign of anything.  "A wardmaster, perhaps?  I know your mother has the required skill, but given the demands of her work I'm not certain how much time she has to devote to matters around the house."

"I am the one repairing the manor," Potter replied, his irritation showing.  "A wardmaster will not be necessary."

So.  It was Potter who was repairing the defenses.  Interesting.

"I'm impressed, Mr. Potter," Tom said, meaning every word.  "Warding is no simple task.  Are you intending to be a wardmaster yourself?"

Potter shook his head.

"No.  It is simply one of the pieces of knowledge I picked up on my travels."

"Oh?" Tom asked.  "Where did you go?"

"Here and there," Potter answered with a stiff smile.

Stubborn boy.  Didn't he realized that the more he demurred and withheld, the more Tom wanted to know?  Still, it had been quite some time since anyone had put up anything that resembled a fight.  Oh, there were those who would attempt to rouse his curiosity on purpose, attempting to be mysterious in order to try and draw him out. They were easy to spot, and even their deepest, darkest secrets usually only took him a moment to unravel. There was no sport in it. They were dull people, and it was always a matter of hours before Tom became bored.

Potter, though, was putting up a real fight. He truly didn't want Tom to know about him.

Tom loved a challenge. It had been such a long time since he had had anything even resembling a true one. He doubted Potter would be more than a few days worth of entertainment, but it was the most intrigued he'd been in a long time. Part of him almost wanted to savor the experience.

He knew he wouldn't. Tom could be patient if forced, but there was nothing to stay his hand now. He always preferred to tackle issues head on, to greedily reveal the secrets that had been kept from him as long as possible.

Potter could have his secrets for now. Tom would know everything before the end of their time together.

"May I ask, how long were you abroad? When did you return to the country?" Tom said, feigning at no interest beyond typical small talk. "I myself spent a number of years after my Hogwarts graduation on exploration."

"I only returned four weeks ago," Potter said, ignoring the words that had been designed to provoke enquiry as if Tom hadn't spoken them at all. "I left the summer after my Hogwarts graduation."

Three years, then. The boy had spent three years wandering around the globe. Few people were so dedicated in their travels. No mere tourist, then. That much was certain. The money certainly hadn't run out. Which suggested that Potter had been looking for something.

Tom wondered what it was, and where Potter had found it. He would have to look into the ministry records later, to see if he could discover what he wanted to know. If not the official records, then he was certain that the boy's parents could provide an answer. Perhaps one of his yearmates. Tom would know what he wanted to know before the end of business.

It was time to turn this conversation back towards its true purpose.

"You moved in with your parents then?" Tom asked.

Potter nodded.

"Originally, I'd planned on renting myself a room," Potter said.  "As soon as my parent knew I was coming back, they insisted that I move in with them. In light of the current situation, they weren't comfortable with me living on my own."

Tom nodded.

"Now, tell me please, Mr. Potter, were you home the night Voldemort attacked?" Tom asked.

"I was," Potter answered. "I was in the study down the hall when the fighting first broke out, but I had retreated to the library before the end of it."

Was Potter a coward, then?  Surprising, for a boy who had been prefect of a house known for it's bravery.

"Not defending your home?" Tom asked, in a tone designed to garner a reaction.

It worked.  Potter glared at him.

"I was ordered to evacuate by my parents," Potter said, not even pretending to bother hiding his irritation.

Ah. That made a great deal of sense. Lily Potter had, shortly after giving birth to Harry, been involved in a nasty accident as a result of her work on the experimental charms.  It had left her bedridden in St. Mungos for weeks. She had survived, but had been unable to conceive. That this would leave them both protective of their only son was natural.

"I assume that you were prevented from escaping, and that is why you chose to retreat to the library? We know it is typical for the Death Eaters to erect anti-apparition wards to ensure that no one can escape."

Potter gave him a long, dark look. Good. A reaction, finally. The more he needled the man, the more he would learn. Potter seemed the sort to have his tongue loosened in anger, and if he was anything like his father, his temper would leave him angered easily.

"I was on my way to secure several valuable family artifacts before joining the fray myself," Potter said, looking him dead in the eye, gaze still obscured by the damnable fire. "I was simply denied the opportunity."

Tom had to admit that he was impressed. That Potter had gone to secure the family artifacts meant that he was confident enough to be certain that he would survive, but a good enough judge of character to be aware of exactly what he was up against. Still, Tom was convinced that there was more to the story. Otherwise, why would Potter be so eager to avoid talking about it? Tom needed to know more.

"Would you mind retracting your steps with me? Tom asked. "I'd like to try and get a personal feel for the situation if at all possible."

Potter minded. That much was obvious. His clenched jaw had given him away once again. Still, there was no way he could refuse the request. Not without making it obvious that he was hiding something.

"Of course," he said, a smile plastered on his face. "Come with me."

They both exited into the entryway, and Potter began to make his way up the stairs.

"Now, where were your parents when the fighting broke out?"

"Outside on the front lawn," Harry said with a grimace. "Defending the house."

That answer surprised Tom. He had expected the Potters to have been the ones who had dueled in the entryway. From the damage, it was obvious that spellfire had been exchanged. Tom knew the habits of the Death Eaters, knew what spells they preferred. Had experience enough to know exactly which curses had left marks on the walls. Bellatrix had been there. Of that there was no doubt. Her husband too. Perhaps Carrow.

"Were any of the witches or wizards from the Order present?"

Potter paused, his foot momentarily frozen above the step. It was just a moment, but it was enough.

"Order?" Potter asked, his tone convincing enough that he might have swayed someone less skilled than Tom. "I'm sorry, what order?"

"The Order of the Pheonix," Tom said calmly. "An organization formed by Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Your parents are members, along with almost two dozen other wizards and witches."

Potter glanced at him for a moment, too fast for their eyes to truly catch before his gaze darted to somewhere over Tom's left shoulder.

"Do give me some credit, Mr. Potter," Tom said. "I'm not as incompetent as some of my colleges. While as a member of the ministry, I may not offer official support to such vigilante actions..." Tom trailed of meaningfully.

"Unofficially?" Potter asked him.

"Unofficially? I think it is about time citizen began taking a stand. Voldemort is a threat to all of wizarding Britain, perhaps the entire wizarding world, and he must be stopped. Citizens who stand by when their very freedoms are threatened..." Tom heaved a heavy frustrated sigh. The sheep of the wizarding world. At once his greatest tool and his greatest obstacle. "The people must take a stand. They must fight. Fight to survive. It is the surest way to prevent Voldemort from taking power."

For the present, at least, that much was true. Until Tom could find his own solution to the problem of Voldemort, finishing him once and for all, or find a way to control the man, he needed to ensure that Voldemort's campaign of terror did not succeed.

"No," Potter said. "I was alone. The wards kept those not of Potter blood from apparating directly into the house. They sealed the doors behind them before anyone could help."

Tom stared at Potter intently, looking for any sign of duplicity, any indication at all that he might be concealing the truth. There was none. The man had fought three of the most vicious, brutal Death Eaters on his own, and he had survived. Not just survived, but emerged largely unscathed.

Clearly Potter was not a man to be underestimated. Tom had known he was powerful, but it was another thing entirely to know that the man knew how to wield that power.

"How many?" Tom asked, his voice more commanding than he had intended. "How many were there?"

"Three," Potter said, swiftly and with such surety that Tom was certain he was lying.

But why?  What purpose was there to this lie?  Why did he want so desperately to downplay his own achievements?  Why was he trying to hard to hide?

Tom allowed Potter his deception for the moment.  But there was no way he was going to let it go.

"Can you describe them for me?" Tom asked.

Potter's jaw clenched once again, and Tom found himself fascinated. What, exactly, was Potter trying to accomplish here? Trying to downplay his own skill? For what purpose? If someone was powerful and skilled, that was typically information they broadcasted far and wide. There was no explanation Tom could think of for concealing it. Perhaps he was attempting to protect one of the Death Eaters? But for god's sake,  _why?_  The boy's family were all members of the Order. Who could he have formed an attachment to in Voldemort's ranks? Tom could not make heads or tails of his motives, and he found it as fascinating as it was frustrating.

"A woman," Harry began slowly. "One with dark, curly hair and a crazed sort of wildness about her. Bellatrix Lestrange."

Tom made an inquiring noise. The death eaters all wore masks and robes to hide their identity. It wasn't uncommon for some of the members to go without, too proud to hide their faces. Bellatrix was certainly among their number. But how had Potter recognized her?

Potter shot Tom a look before responding.

"My godfather is Sirius Black. I'm quite familiar with the Black family tree. And Bellatrix is very easy to spot."

"Very true," Tom said.

"The others were all wearing masks," Potter said with a shrug. "I haven't a clue who they were."

Neither his posture or his words betrayed him, but Tom was still certain he was hiding something.

"That is their way," Tom said, keeping a sharp eye on Potter. "Very well. What happened next?"

"We dueled in the entryway," Potter said, pointing to the various marks that still littered the walls. "I was barely holding my own."

"At three against one, that is a remarkable feat," Tom offered.

Potter just shrugged in response before making his way to the staircase.

"It became obvious that it would only be a matter of time before they overwhelmed me, so I created a distraction to allow me to run upstairs."

Tom mounted the steps behind him, wondering what sort of distraction could have been useful enough to stop three death eaters in their tracks, long enough for their prey to escape.

"Why not use the distraction to escape?" Tom asked.

He received a scathing look in response, and he had to fight the urge to grin.

"Not the sort to run from a fight?" Tom asked.

Potter gave him a look that communicated the word "yes" more clearly than if the man had spoken it aloud.

"I still had items to retrieve," Potter said instead. "Heirlooms to secure. And I wasn't about to leave them in the manor. Besides," he said, reaching out and placing a hand against one of the walls, a small, soft smile on his face. "This is my home. I know everything about it. I knew I could count on it to protect me."

The magic of the manor had pulsed when Potter had connected with it, as if in agreement with his words. Tom had never seen anyone but the head of the family so in tune with the magic of the house. He had no doubt that the manor would have done everything and anything the youngest Potter asked of it.

"Where did you go next?" Tom prodded. As interesting as this was, he could see it for what it was. Potter was attempting t distract him. For Potter, who had gone well out of his way to conceal his skills and anything remarkable about himself, to have put on such a display of power could only mean one thing. Whatever was waiting upstairs was even more fantastic, even more revealing.

The way Potter grit his teeth confirmed Tom's suspicions. For a man so determined to be mysterious, he was remarkably easy to read.

"The library," Potter said. "That was where several items I needed to retrieve were."

There was something else he wasn't saying, but Tom could grasp it easily enough. Every old manor had its secrets, known only to those who lived within its walls. One of those secrets was no doubt hidden within the family library. A secret passage of sorts, Tom was willing to wager.

They climbed the stairs to the landing and Potter, his steps shorter and slower than they had been a moment before, lead the way to the library.  Reluctant. More than reluctant. Clearly, whatever was in the library was beyond interesting.

Potter stopped short just in front of a doorway.

"This is the Potter family library. Only those of the family can enter," Potter said.

Tom grinned. It was a poor attempt indeed to keep him out, and the man knew it.  Still, Potter had tried. He was stubborn. Tom would concede that much.

"Then if you could be so kind as to invite me in," Tom said sweetly, "and I can continue to move forward in my investigation. The sooner I've seen everything, Mr. Potter, the sooner I'll be out of your hair."

Potter glared at him, but he pressed his hand to the door. Tom felt the wards around the room shift, and a moment later, the door swung open. Potter stepped through it without saying a word. Tom followed.

The moment he entered the room, he knew exactly what Potter had attempted to hide. There were unmistakable scorch marks on every wall and the floor. As if fire had taken form and slithered across and around every surface.

Fiendfyre. Potter had been attacked with fiendfyre. And he had lived to tell the tale.

There was only one wizard Tom knew of amongst Voldemort's ranks who had the skill to not only cast but control such a powerful, destructive force.

"He was here," Tom said, breathless, as he looked around the room. "Voldemort was here. He attacked you."

Tom spun on Potter, and found the man staring at him, his shoulders squared and his jaw clenched. Still, there was fear on his face. Tom could understand why. The boy, for he was but a boy compared to Voldemort's skills and expertise, the boy had fought the Dark Lord. Had fought the Dark Lord, and had  _lived_.

Only Albus Dumbledore, one of the strongest wizards alive, could claim the same.

The time for games was over. Tom reached out and grabbed Potter's face in his hands, forcing the boy to meet his gaze. As soon as their eyes connected, Tom attacked, delving into the boy's mind with as much force as possible  
  
Only he couldn't. There was a barrier around Potter's mind. The strongest barrier he had ever seen. Tom probed every inch, tested every piece of Potter's occlumency barrier.  Tom tried brute force, tried to find a weak spot and attack it, turning his mind to a sharp, powerful point. The walls did not so much as shudder. Tom knew himself to be one of the most powerful legillemns all the world over. No one could keep him out. Not for long. No one, it seemed, except Harry potter.

Not just a simple occlumens. Potter was a Master of the mind art.

Before Tom could decide how to proceed, Potter's hands came to rest against his shoulders.  He pushed Tom, hard enough to have the man stumbling back a step. Enough to break the connection between them.

Potter was glaring at him, his bright green eyes practically glowing with emotion. He stared at Tom in defiance, power that had been so carefully hidden before now pratically radiating off him.

He was the most beautiful thing Tom had ever seen.

"I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself, Mr. Slytherin," the man said, his voice steady, wand in his hand. "Now, I believe you have overstayed your welcome."

Potter's magic reached for that of the manor, and a moment later Tom felt the house shift around him, the wards alight with magic that wrapped around Tom. A painful, burning sensation, one last look at the defiance and strength in those green eyes, and then Tom found himself outside the gate of the Potter manor.

He stood there for a moment before he allowed himself a delighted laugh.

Harry Potter was a puzzle. An intricate, interesting, pretty puzzle indeed. Tom would unravel him, would pick apart his secrets before the man stood bare and exposed before him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Everyone! I was hoping to have some more fics to update, but I hope that something is better than nothing.

Where Voldemort's motives had been nothing but opaque before, Tom could understand them all too well now. He had been unmatched, unchallenged for so long. He and Voldemort both. To find someone who not only stood before him without cowering, who met him head on and defied him. Someone who challenged him and won -- Harry Potter was what had captured Voldemort's attention so thoroughly. Just as he had Tom's.

Harry, it seemed, was the solution to several of Tom's problems. Here, at last, was a way to control the monster.  Tom was certain of it.  If he could steal Harry away, could keep Voldemort from discovering or interacting with his newest obsession, it would drive the Dark Lord mad.  All his actions since he had encountered Harry were now perfectly clear to him.  All his attacks recently had been purposefully designed to draw out the order.  To draw out James and Lily Potter.  To draw out Sirius Black, and anyone else who might stay with the young man.

Voldemort was trying to get to Potter.  Trying to get him alone.

Tom would get there first.  Tom would speak to the Potters, would explain the situation to them.  Would offer them his personal protection.  And they would accept.  Of course they would accept.  It was a simple matter for Tom to manipulate others.  It was a skill he had been perfecting through childhood.

Once he had Harry, that knowledge would be the way to finally control Voldemort.  Information about the man as a reward, the promise of an in-person visit always dangling in front of him.  Harry, in a location known to Tom and Tom alone would be enough to keep the information from Voldemort.  Oh, Harry himself would object, but Tom was certain he would bow to his parents wishes.

Having Harry all to himself solved another problem. One that had been plaguing Tom for nearly fifty years. Tom had always been ambitious.  He had always desired power, desired control.  Yet the Wizarding world was still steeped sharply in old traditions.  It was the purebloods who had all the influence, all the power.  Tom knew that as a half-blood (and he had been convinced from the start that he was no mere muggleborn), in order to move up in the world, he would need to marry well.  His spouse would have to bring the connections and the political acumen he himself could not cultivate due to the circumstances of his birth.  

Tom had known this since he was fifteen.  The revelation of his Slytherin bloodline had done little to change the circumstances.  As a halfblood from a distinguished family, Tom's circumstances were not as dire as they could have been.  His half-blood status was an issue with the more traditional sets of wizarding society.  Marrying well to someone from an old family would do a great deal to soothe those feathers.

While Tom's direct connection to one of the families of the founders, the fact remained that his direct ancestors, the Gaunts, had in recent year done more harm than good to their reputation.  While their ancestry was perfectly pure, something they were very proud of, they had squandered any influence and money they had ever had.  For the last half dozen generations or so, the Gaunt family had been nothing more than a joke, an embarrassment to the powerful bloodline they'd once come from.  To be their descendent was nothing to be proud of.

To make the connections he needed, Tom would have to marry, and he would have to marry well.  It would be the only way to get ahead in the political world he wished to not just enter, but to rule. He would need his spouse's connections.

Still, if he was to marry, it would have to be to someone worthy. Someone who would bolster him, not hold him back. It would be a political marriage, but Tom had very specific standards. His spouse would need to be magically powerful, intelligent, and loyal. Someone who was worthy of being his spouse, who would help his ambitions rather than serve to hinder them.

No equal. No, the mere thought was laughable. No one could match his power. Except, perhaps, for Harry Potter.

Harry, who had dueled Voldemort and survived. Not just survived, but perhaps emerged victorious. After all, it was Voldemort who had left the Potter's house, and Harry who had remained, intact and unscathed enough to avoid a trip to Saint Mungos, unlike several others who had been at the raid. Harry, who had thwarted Tom's Legilimency entirely.

Harry, who was a Potter. An old family, with connections and money to spare. His godfather was the heir to the Black family. Numerous connections in political spheres Tom's own influence would never touch. Through Harry, Tom could expand his political network dramatically.

And unlike any other potential spouse Tom had considered, Harry was  _interesting_. Interesting enough to capture the interest of even the irrational Voldemort, who made no pretense of social acceptability.

Here, at last, was someone worth courting.

It would have to be in the Olde fashion, for it to be of interest to the traditionalists. And Harry valued tradition. At least more than his father, from what Tom had seen. While under Tom's protection, he would have time to not only pick Harry apart, but to begin his courtship in earnest. Romance was, after all, just another form of manipulation. Tom had dabbled, on occasion, out of boredom, but it had quickly become more of a chore than a diversion. Harry, Tom knew would be much more difficult. Still, it would make his surrender all the sweeter, when the time finally did come.

The only true obstacle he could see to his plan was Albus Dumbledore. The Potters trusted the man implicitly, and Dumbledore had always hated Tom, right from the start. He had more than earned the man's enmity at this point, but as a child of only eleven he had done nothing worthy of the suspicion the man had shown him. For all that they both played at politeness in public, even the grandfatherly, genial Dumbledore dropped his mask when the two were alone. Not animosity. No. That Tom would have been able to stomach. Dumbledore looked at him with  _pity_. As if Tom had somehow  _disappointed_ him. There was no fear. No respect. It drove Tom mad.

Yet for all that Albus would not do him the courtesy of respecting Tom, of showing him that he considered him a threat, but all his actions told a different story.  He'd prevented Tom from taking the position of professor of Defense, despite the fact that he was more qualified than anyone who had held the position before or since.  The old man had done everything in his power to try and blacklist Tom from the ministry, but the connections he had made while working in Borgin and Burkes had made that impossible. Tom knew where the bodies were buried.   His previous clients had found that more than reason enough to offer him introductions to the right people when he had returned from his travels.

At every turn Dumbledore was there, preventing Tom from succeeding as well as he should have. Whispering just the right words of doubt to those people Tom had already swayed to his side to cause his measures to fail in the Wizegmont.  Dumbledore, keeping the minister from falling under his sway.  Everywhere Tom turned, Dumbledore was there, cutting him down before he could even begin.

Tom hated the man.  He had ever since he was a child.  That hatred had only grown with time.

But the enemy of his enemy was at least an ally, for all that Tom was certain they would never be friends.  As much as it galled him, he would need Albus to ensure his plan's success.

Tom took a deep breath and grit his teeth, breathing heavily for his nose for several moments before he bowed to the inevitable.  Straightening, he reached for his official ministry stationary, and set quill to paper.

_Albus,_ he wrote.

_I have put off this letter for far too long due to personal grievance.  I assume your reasons for not reaching out yourself are similar.  While we have not seen eye to eye on many issues, on the point of Lord Voldemort, we are agreed.  The man is a terrorist, and the largest threat the wizarding community has faced since the time of Grindlewald.  His attacks have spilled magical blood, a precious resource we cannot afford to waste, and his antics threaten to expose the wizarding community as a whole.  I know your stance on muggles, but surely you can agree that this would be one of the most disastrous ways for us to be exposed._

_All this has been true for months, but information I recently learned about Voldemort's future plans has forced my hand.  We cannot afford to ignore one another any longer.  I'll say no more in this letter, for fear of the message being intercepted, but you_ must _contact me at once.  Matters of this delicacy can only be discussed in person._

_Undersecretary of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,_

_Tom Slytherin_

Tom read over the missive to ensure that all was as it should be.  More degrading and debasing than he would normally ever allow out of his grasp, but it was the right approach.  It was out of character enough that it was sure to catch Albus's attention.  Tom was certain that the man would have come regardless, but he would have come to spy.  The headmaster was no doubt convinced that Lord Voldemort's actions were Tom's own.  It would be up to Tom to convince him otherwise as soon as possible.  Tom would have to reveal far more of his hand than he would have liked, but it would be worth it.  Tom was certain of it.

With a wave of his wand, the letter was folded and sealed with the ministry seal, the other side of the envelope bearing the word "URGENT" in large red print, in addition to Albus' address at Hogwarts.  Another wave of his wand sent the letter sailing off in the direction of the ministry owlry, where one of those birds who carried time-sensitive missives would hurry it to its destination.  There was nothing more to do now than wait for Albus' reply.

Tom was not one to waste time sitting idly by why there was work to be done.  He stood and made his way over to his bookcase, where a small, innocuous looking bowl, made of roughly hewn stone.  Tom raised his want to his temple and focused on the moment Harry had taken him into the library.  He'd only had a brief glimpse of the room before Harry had expelled him from the house.  Tom had been so fixated on the marks from from the fiendfyre, on what they meant, that he'd spent no time observing the room, too distracted by his discovery.  It had been careless of him.  He was certain that there was more to discover.

Tom slowly pulled his wand away, taking the strand of memory with it.  He allowed it to fall into the pensieve, watching as the memory swirled and settled.  As soon as he was certain it had[settled properly, Tom stood, crossing to the door of his office. He poked his head out and turned to Weasley, whose desk stood just outside the door.

"I am reviewing a memory," Tom told him as the boy jerked upright. "I am not to be disturbed. Unless a message comes from Albus Dumbledore. I am expecting a response to an urgent missive. You will alert me immediately if anything from him or one of his representatives arrives."

"Yes, sir, of course," Weasley simpered. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Arrange for a meeting with James and Lily Potter," Tom said after a moment's consideration. It wouldn't do to have talked to the son and yet made no effort to communicate with the parents. Far too suspicious. Tom could not afford to have the Potter's more suspicious of him than necessary, if his plan was to succeed. "Today would be ideal, but it can be pushed back to tomorrow morning if absolutely necessary."

"Would you like to see the Potter's together or separately, sir?" Weasley asked.

"I don't care," Tom said. "Whatever it takes to see them today. I imagine given their schedules, separately would be more successful in the time frame."

"Of course, sir."

"I shall notify you when I have finished my examination," Tom said shortly. He closed the door in Weasley's face before the man could attempt to make the conversation last longer.

Tom crossed to his fireplace and muttered the quick spell that would cut off access to his grate and redirect any callers to Weasley's fireplace outside. Finally assured that he would not be disturbed, Tom turned his attention to the pensieve on his desk.

Seating himself at his desk once more, Tom took once deep breath to center himself before he plunged his head into the shimmering silver liquid.

The library formed around him slowly, he and Harry the only ones present. He watched himself as he took in the room, saw on his face the exact moment when he realized what the markings on the wall meant. But Tom was not interested in watching himself, of seeing the events that had transpired less than an hour ago playing out before him. It was the surrounding that interested him the most.

Tom stopped the memory with a thought and began to investigate.  He crossed in front of his memory self, allowing his eyes to linger on Harry for only a moment before he turned his gaze to the room at large.  It was unmistakably a private library.  The space directly in front of the door was a sitting area, equipped with several comfortable chairs and couches.  There were a handful of books on the table.  Their titles were mundane enough.  Books on offensive and defensive spells, mixed with books on the theory of spellcrafting.  A book on the animagius transformation, and Bathilda Bagshot's newest work.  Nothing interesting.  None of the books reminds him of Harry.  The elder Potter's reading material, Tom supposed.  Which raised the question.  What was Harry reading?

Tom strolled through the shelves, grateful that the memory managed to encompass the entire library.  Several of the titles he passed intrigue him.  Books on lineage that never left the family manor, several rare tomes thought to have been lost entirely.  Magical theory, the in-depth sort.  What he found most surprising of all, however, is the dark arts tomes.  For a supposedly light family, there are a large number of them.  Even more surprising is that they look to have been removed recently, several not quite flush with the rest of the books on the shelf.

It seemed Harry was at least somewhat interested in the Dark Arts.

Tom shook his head, allowing himself a smirk.  Foolish boy.  The more Tom learned, the more Harry's fate was sealed.  By the time Tom had finished weaving his web, Harry would be far too ensnared to ever escape.

At the far end of one row, tucked up against one of the shelves Tom found a desk.  It was messy, covered in open books and scraps of parchment.  This, Tom knew when he set eyes on it, was Harry's space.  The parchment, he knew, he would be unable to read.  It was too far from the center of his own memory, too detailed for even magic to recreate at such a distance.  The books, however...the titles, at least, he had a hope of gleaning.

He could touch nothing in the memory, could change nothing.  But if he bent his head just so...

_The Meaning of Magical Cores_ ,  _Why Does my Wand Do That?,  The Subtle Laws of Wands,_  each and every book that Tom could make out  had a title of this nature.  Wandlore.  Every single book was on wandlore.

Was Potter planning to try and apprentice himself to a wandmaker?  While it was true the position required magical skill, Tom doubted it.  The sort of person who traveled the world for three years was not the kind to shut themselves away in a workshop forever.  Which meant that there was something specific Harry was looking for.

Tom would find it first. He was determined.  There was nothing about Harry Potter he would not know.

With that thought he pulled himself out of the memory.  The ministry kept records of the wands of every British citizen.  It would be a simple matter to discover Harry's own.  Tom pulled another memo towards him and sent in an official request for Harry Potter's wand record.  A quick flick of his wand and the memo folded itself into a paper airplane before it went whizzing through the air.

Tom leaned back in his chair, pressing a finger to his lips.  Albus would need convincing before he'd even consider sharing resources.  Tom would have to find a way to persuade him of his sincerity.  An oath was out.  Tom couldn't guarantee that he'd be able to take an oath Albus would ask him to swear.  Even if he was certain, he still wouldn't do it.  To have his magic threatened so was repugnant to him.  

Letting Albus into his mind was out the question as well.  The mere thought made his flesh crawl.  Even if he were willing to allow the man the liberty, Tom was an occlumens of no small skill.  If he wished to conceal or twist the truth within his mind, it would be mere child's play for him to do so. 

Tom's occlumency kept veritaserum from being an option as well.  It would be a simple matter to ensure that he said nothing he did not with to, or to lie if it suited his purposes.  Even if it had been effective, Tom would never have permitted it.  He refused to allow himself to be so vulnerable in front of that man.

So, how? How was he to convince Albus to take him at his word? Earning the man's trust would never happen. Not that it was even a goal of Tom's to begin with. He didn't want Albus's trust. But he did need his assistance.

Tom drummed his finger against his desk, causing small ripples to appear in the wisps of memory in the pensieve.

The pensieve, Tom realized, sitting upright suddenly. Of course. The pensieve. Memories within could not be manipulated, not without leaving behind obvious signs. The perspective they provided was impartial, one that could not be manipulated. It would allow Albus to view the events as they occurred, to come to his own conclusions.  It would also allow Tom to keep his thoughts to himself.  

This, this was the solution.  Tom simply had to ensure that the memory in its entirety didn't reveal anything he wished to keep to himself.  Tom placed his wand to his temple once again and pulled out his entire memory from the incident.  Once it had settled into the pensieve, Tom placed his head in the basin once again.

None of the conversation was damning.  Tom had been trying his best to put Harry at ease.  There was no point in making people nervous before he had to.  Tom was gratified, but not surprised, to see that his face gave nothing away.  He'd perfected his control over his expressions long ago.  Still, to Albus, who knew him and knew him well, there were enough tells obvious enough that Albus would spot them.  The moment he noted the spell damage on the walls, his reaction to Harry's assertion that he was the only one in the house when the Death Eaters had attacked.

His face when Potter had finally allowed him entrance to the room spoke volumes.  Shock, pure and simple.  The kind of shock that couldn't be faked.  Even Albus, who was irritatingly skilled at reading Tom and always had been, would know that this was nothing but genuine.

It would do, Tom decided. It would do very well. And for all that Albus could anger him more quickly than anyone Tom had ever encountered, there was no denying that the man was skilled. If they could establish a truce of some sort, the monster might yet be stopped.

Tom didn't want Voldemort stopped. Tom wanted to be able to control the monster. Voldemort would be an excellent tool, as long as he could be controlled. Harry, Tom was certain, would finally be what allowed Tom's plans around the Dark Lord to come to fruition.

Albus was the key to Harry. By opening a line of communication, Tom could begin to gain insight into exactly what it was that Albus knew. Could perhaps even manipulate the man, using Lord Voldemort and what he knew of the Order's goals.

This memory was the key to everything Tom had spend the last half a century working towards.

Tom reached into his desk and pulled out a crystal vial.  Pulling out the stopper, Tom dipped his wand into the silvery vapor in the pensieve, placing the memory within.  If Albus insisted, Tom would draw forth the memory once again in front of him.  Still, Tom had developed a healthy sense of paranoia, especially given the circumstances.  A copy of the memory would be kept here, safe in his office.   A place Voldemort dared not show his face.  Another copy would be stored in Tom's workroom.  No copies would be left in a pensieve.   _Any_  pensieve.

As soon as the cork was in the vial, there was a sharp knock on the door.  Before Tom could answer, the door was opened, revealing Percy Weasley standing in the doorway.

"Mr. Slytherin, sir," Weasley said, staring at Tom diffidently.  "You'd asked me to bring you any response from Albus Dumbledore?"

The wizard held a piece of parchment in his hands, and Tom grit his teeth.  Even under circumstances such at this, Albus was playing games.  The chance that Tom truly had information was too much to pass up, especially if the information was leaked and it was revealed that Albus could have done something.  So he would have to meet with Tom.  But Albus would do it on his territory.  He would summon Tom to him, to his office.  Albus would sit comfortably behind his desk, while he would be relegated to the seat he'd occupied while a student.  Anything to establish Albus as the one who was in power.

It was all Tom could do not to snarl aloud. He would always be a misbehaving student in Albus' eyes, and the man was doing everything in his power to ensure that Tom knew it. The man drove him mad. Always, always playing chess.

Tom grit his teeth. It was about time someone sat down across the board. If Albus wanted to play, then Tom would play. He would play, and he would win.

"Thank you Weasley," Tom said, holding out his hand for the message and dismissing the boy at the same time. His voice was more clipped than he had intended, but he didn't care. It was a secretary's duty to bear the brunt of his boss's ill temper, after all.

Weasley scurried over and placed the parchment on the desk before walking briskly out of Tom's office. Gripping the parchment in both hands, Tom began to read.

It was exactly as he had expected. Albus summoning him. Couching it in concern for his students, his inability to leave school on such short notice at this point in the year, he invited Tom to meet with him at Hogwarts instead. Given the urgency of the matter, Dumbledore said, it was best that they addressed the issue at once.

Tom set the piece of parchment down, resisting the urge to tear it in half. It was just as he had suspected.  If he were to refused to meet with Albus, then he would be the one who would seem unreasonable.  Tom would be the one who could not put aside a petty grudge in favor of the greater good, as Albus would put it.

To Hogwarts, then.

Tom stood and crossed over to his door, yanking it open so that he could face his secretary.

"I will be at Hogwarts for the forseeable future," Tom told the wizard.  "Take messages and let those who inquire know I have left on an urgent matter.  I don't anticipate this taking longer than an hour, perhaps two.  I shall inform you when I return."

Not waiting for a response, Tom shut the door and strode over to his office's fireplace.  He reached into the small box he kept on the mantel and pulled out a pinch of floo power.  Lighting the fire with a flick of his wand, Tom threw the powder into the grate, watching as the flames turned emerald green in color. He straightened his clothes before stepping forward, into the flames.

"Headmaster's office, Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry" Tom said clearly.

The flames flared, then extinguished, leaving behind only an empty grate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mom's currently in recovery for double knee replacement, and I'm going crazy, so have a chapter

The headmaster's office hadn't changed at all in the years since Tom had been there last.  The same bookcase, covered in the same trinkets.  It was as if the room had been frozen in time.  Just like the wizarding world.  Stagnant, unchanging.

Only the man behind the desk had changed.  The same spectacles, the same twinkling blue eyes, the same appalling taste in robes.  The beard and hair that had once been auburn were now a snow white, the face weathered by time. Tom took no small satisfaction in seeing the toll time had taken on the man, while Tom himself had managed to remain untouched.

"Tom, my boy!" Dumbledore greeted him, and Tom grit his teeth. "I wasn't expecting you so soon!"

"As I said in my initial letter, Albus, the matter is quite urgent," Tom replied, calling on years of practice to keep his frustration from showing one his face.

"Indeed you did, my boy," Albus said, gesturing to the seat on the other side of the desk. "Indeed you did. I must confess that I was surprised to receive your message. Voldemort is indeed an issue, but I do not know what bearing you thought I could have upon the matter."

"You are the local expert in defeating Dark Lords," Tom said, pretending at humor.

"Ah," Albus said, his eyes twinkling. "I suppose this is true."

Before Tom could speak again to argue his point, song suddenly filled the room. For all that Tom was far from a fan of his emotions being manipulate beyond his control, phoenix song was tolerated, for all that he found the waves of happiness and contentment slightly off-putting. Still, he was fond of Fawks, for all that he hated his master. From what he could tell, the bird was fond of him as well. He appeared in a burst of flame, and took one lap around the room to show off his plumage before settling on Tom's shoulder, nuzzling him with a happy trill.

"Hello, Fawks," Tom said, ignoring Albus in favor of his familiar. He reached up and ran his fingers through the bird's feathers a time or two. His own wand had a core of phoenix feather, and he'd always found himself interested the properties the magical bird possessed.

Fawks returned his greeting by bumping his head against Tom's cheek, chirping happily. Then he turned his attention to Tom's hair, beginning ot run his beak through the dark locks, preening him. Tom fought off a smile. The bird's antics should have been irritating, but Tom found them more charming than anything else.

Albus cleared his throat, and Tom found himself starting somewhat, earning him an angry squawk from Fawks. The bird tugged hard on a lock of hair in admonishment before returning to his task. Tom, on the other hand, had his fist clenched under the table. The old man's eyes were twinkling, and Tom found himself fighting the urge to hex the man for the look he was giving him.

"I never knew you were fond of Fawks, my boy," Albus, said, his eyes twinkling. "Nor that Fawks returned that affection."

"He's an affectionate bird," Tom said, doing his best to remain stoic despite the phoenix currently perched on his shoulder.

"On the contrary," Albus said with a smile, "Fawks is an incredibly loyal bird, and his affection is not easily aquirred." Albus turned and gave Tom a serious look. "As I recall, the last time you two met was in your sixth year, shortly after the incident in the chamber. He didn't want anything to do with you at the time."

Tom remembered the incident well. He had been surprised to see the phoenix, who had come to him before in times of trouble, on the arm of his most hated professor. The sound of it's song, which had once filled him with joy and resolution, now grated on his ears, filling him with a great deal of fear.

"I'd seen him before then," Tom said simply, refusing to elaborate any further.

Long ago, he had thought that the phoenix had shunned him for what he had done. They were, from all accounts that Tom had read, creatures of the light. After committing one of the darkest magical acts known to man, he had though that the bird wanted nothing more to do with him.

His travels had taught him better. Phoenixes were not creatures of light. Not just light, anyway. If they had truly abhorred the dark as much as the books said, then a phoenix-core wand never would have chosen him. Never would have performed the dark magic that came so naturally to Tom so beautifully.

Pheonixes were creatures of balance, of progress. Not just of rebirth, but of destruction.  For it was only once everything had been turned to ash that the phoenix could emerge once more, even stronger and better that before

Tom would be the fire that cleansed the wizarding world. Burning it to the ground so that it could rise greater than ever from the ashes.

Fawks avoidance of him had to do with the ritual he had just preformed, yes. But not in the way Tom had assumed at first. To be exposed to any wild magic, especially the brightly-burning power of a phoenix, would have been disasterous for him. With his magic and soul still unstable in the wake of the ritual, all it would have taken was one stray spell to shatter him.

By avoiding him, Fawks had saved his life.

But if Albus chose to read other meanings into Fawks' attention and affection, Tom would not stop him.

"Fawks visited me many times during my tenure at Hogwarts," Tom said simply.

Still, that the bird was selective in his affections was a matter of interest. Perhaps whatever it was that had drawn him to his wand had drawn Fawks to him in turn?

"I did not know," Albus said, his blue eyes filled with a sadness that had Tom's fists clenched once again before the table. Would the man have treated him differently, if he had known? Would he have casted aside one prejudiced assumption in favor of the other? "In that case, you should consider yourself honored. To my knowledge, you are only the third wizard other than myself he has allowed to touch him."

"Who were the others?" Tom asked, feigning a polite interest.  In reality, he was interested.  Perhaps this would be a clue to what exactly it was he had done to gain the powerful creatures affection.

"Newt Scamader was the first," Albus said with a smile and a twinkle. "It was he who first introduced me to Fawks."

The author of Fantastic Beasts. As an expert in magical creatures, that was not entirely surprising. If anyone would know the secrets to charming a phoenix, it would be him.  Still, perhaps it would be worth revisiting the book to see what Scamader had to say on the matter.  Send him a letter to see what he might have to say on the subject.

"The other?" Tom asked.

"Harry Potter," Albus said simply.

Tom couldn't stop his response to hearing that name. Not now. Not when hearing the name was so unexpected.

"You know Mr. Potter?" Albus asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Mr. Potter," Tom said simply, "is the reason I am here."

Albus' brow furrowed in confusion. Tom knew an opening when he saw one, and it could not have been more perfect if he had orchestrated it himself.

"Albus," Tom said slowly. "You and I are not at odds here. Despite our history, we both want the same thing. Voldemort stopped."

"You had said as much in your letter," Albus allowed. "I must confess at the time, I was not inclined to believe you."

Shrewd blue eyes fixed on the phoenix on Tom's shoulder.

"And now?" Tom asked.

"I find myself more open than I would have imagined only an hour ago," Albus said simply.

Tom nodded. It was a fair response, misguided as it was. Still, Tom wasn't about to dissuade the old man. If he could earn his trust, it would only make things that much easier.

"What is the information you wished to share, that you were so concerned about sharing?" Albus asked.

"I believe Lord Voldemort has targeted Harry Potter," Tom said simply.

Albus blinked once, clearly nonplussed for all that he tried to hide it. Whatever he had been anticipating, it wasn't this.

"What has lead you to this conclusion?" Albus asked.

"I will show you," Tom said simply. "You have a pensieve, don't you Albus?"

The man's only response was to blink again, his expression entirely unreadible.

Tom rolled his eyes.

"There is no trust between us, Albus," Tom said, a simple statement of fact. "That has been true since the day we met," he said, allowing a hint of bitterness to flavor his tone.  

He took pleasure in the way Albus flinched slightly.  Good.  The more the man was off his game, the easier it would be for Tom to achieve his goals.  Not to mention there was a certain satisfaction in seeing the man squirm.

"I knew my word would not be enough to convince you," Tom said.  "But I couldn't let allow the bad blood between us to put a life in danger."

Albus stared at him for a long moment.

"Yes," he said at last.  "Yes, I do have a pensieve."

Albus stood and turned around, pulling an object down on the shelf before he placed it on the desk between them.  Covered in runes and encrusted in precious stones,.  Albus' pensieve, the man's own memories swirling in its depths.

As soon as the pensieve was on the desk, Tom raised his wand to his temple and concentrated on the memory he had chosen.  Slowly, so as not to break the strand of thought, Tom pulled his wand away, taking the silvery string of memory with it.   The thought swung free, dangling from the tip of his wand, and Tom brought it forward, tapping his wand once to allow it to fall into the pensieve. 

Tom gestured towards the pensieve as the memory swirled and settled.

"Please," Tom said.  "I've already seen it, after all."

It was all the invitation Albus required.  With one last look at Tom, he placed his head in the pensieve.  

As soon as Albus was no longer with them, Fawks let out a short trill. Tom's wand grew warm, and he nearly dropped it in surprise. He turned to the bird on his shoulder and found one of the sapphire eyes staring directly at him. Suddenly, Tom understood.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Tom asked the bird. "You were the phoenix whose feather is in my wand."

Fawks chirped, and nuzzled against his neck.

Tom reached out and placed his hand against Fawk's feathers. The moment he had entered Ollivanders was not one he would soon forget. Diagon alley had been a revelation of its own. Finally,  _finally_  here was somewhere he belonged. A place  _meant_  for him. He had always known that he was better than the other orphans. Destined for greater things. And he had been right. Tom was destined for  _this_.

The initial moment of wonder did not take long to fade.  The realities of this new world didn't take long to sink in.  Still, Ollivanders had been different.  Walking in, Tom had felt that same wonder rising in him.  The first moment he had held his wand, the moment he'd truly felt his magic, like an extension of himself. It was one of his happiest memories. The memory he called upon to summon his patronus.

"Thank you," Tom said to the bird on his shoulder, genuine gratitude flowing through him. "Truly, thank you."

Fawks chirped again, rubbing his head against Tom's cheek before he began to groom his hair once again. Tom stared at the bird, a question running through his head. Fawks had been fond of him, yes. Had appeared to him from time to time. Had even allowed Tom to touch him. But this level of affection, this level of affection was unheard of.

The phoenix. A symbol of life and death. Destruction and rebirth. Immortality.

"You know, don't you?" Tom said, running his hands through the brilliant red and gold feathers. "You know what I've done."

Fawks trilled in response, the few notes of his song sending shivers down Tom's spine. Then he returned to his grooming, letting out small happy chirps as he did.

Fawks could tell. The phoenix could somehow sense that Tom had made himself immortal. The bird recognized another immortal creature, and greeted him with happiness. With kinship.

Lonely, Tom thought to himself. Perhaps the phoenix was lonely. Century after century, watching the world change around him, feeling magic change and reshape itself as the years passed by. Perhaps he was simply happy, after all this time, to have some company.

Tom snorted and shook his head. Fanciful, ridiculous thoughts. Thoughts that had no point. Clearly being in this school once again, the first place he had called home, was making him foolish and sentimental.

Albus emerged from the memory, saving Tom from further contemplation. The look on his face was enough for Tom to know that his memory had worked exactly as he had hoped. Ablus was troubled. Deeply, deeply troubled. He turned to Tom, his expression serious and filled with concern.

"What did you see?" Ablus asked. "Within his mind, what did you see?"

"Nothing," Tom answered honestly, crossing one leg over the other. "I saw nothing."

Albus gave him a look.

"Truly," Tom said. "I am a legilimens of no small skill, as I am sure you are aware.  Yet Mr. Potter is an Occlumens.  One of considerable skill.  He was able to keep me from entering his mind despite my best efforts."

Albus stared at him for a long moment, and he met his gaze squarely. Albus sighed and leaned back in his chair, holding his crossed hands up to his lips.

"I must confess, I find this deeply troubling," Albus said. "Voldemort's interest, obviously, but it is Harry's behavior that has me the most concerned."

"Oh?" Tom said.

"Why would he conceal his encounter with Voldemort? Especially if the man was there to kill him and his parents. Why would he be so secretive?"

This was a question that Tom had been turning over in his mind since he had been expelled from Potter manor. Unlike Albus, he found it more intriguing than troubling.

"In my encounter with the man, he seemed reluctant to reveal the extent of his own power," Tom said.

"Harry was a good student," Albus said. "Skilled. He excelled more in the practical aspects than the theoretical. Exceeds Expectations and Outstandings, with the occasional Acceptable. Yet he managed to score straight O's on both his OWLs and his NEWTs.  It was a surprise to most of his teachers, but not excessively so. One of his closest friends, Hermione Granger, was at the top of their class. The staff simply assumed that she had helped him review, and that had made the difference in his marks."

Clearly, that wasn't the case. It was obvious to Tom that the boy had been holding himself back for some reason. Yet he had ambitions of some sort beyond passing through life unnoticed, if he had decided to shed his skin enough to score well on his exams.

Why was Harry hiding? Exactly what was it that the boy was trying to keep secret?

Still, that was a mystery Tom wanted to solve for himself.  Harry's secrets were his to discover.  Once he had them, Tom didn't plan to share them with anyone.  Especially not Albus Dumbledore.

"Perhaps the boy simply wished to avoid becoming a beacon of hope in a war that isn't his job to fight," Tom said simply. "I would think that you, of all people, would understand the issues inherent in becoming seen as the only one capable of a dark wizard."

Albus inclined his head in agreement.

"I cannot say I would wish such a burden on anyone else," Albus said gently. "I could understand his hesitation, were that the case."

Even with his response, Tom could tell that Albus did not agree. At least not fully. Another explanation, then. One that would not call into question the courage of one of Albus' beloved Gryffindors.

"James and Lily are incredibly protective," Tom said. "Perhaps it was at his parents insistence that Harry kept the truth of the night's events to himself."

Albus sighed heavily.

"Yes," he said. "I suspect that to be the case. James and Lily have made it clear that Harry is to be kept from any activities involving Voldemort. And knowing Harry, he might very well have kept it from his parents to keep them from worrying."

Tom filed that piece of information away, fighting a grin. It was exactly the sort of thiing that would make his plans that much easier to enact.

"Regardless of his reasons, one thing is undeniable - Voldemort has become obsessed with Harry."

"You drew this conclusion from a simple duel?" Albus asked him.

Tom outlined his reasoning, pointed out Voldemort's odd behavior in the weeks since he and Harry had first met face to face. All of it designed to draw out the Order, so that the monster himself might have time to corner his prey alone.

"I see," Albus said at last. "That is worrying indeed."

The man paused in thought, considering for a long moment.

"What do you propose?" Albus asked.

"We use his obsession against him," Tom said.

He outlined his plan.  It was a simple thing.  The two of them would construct a safe house of some sort.  One that only a select few had access to.  Dumbledore, himself, and perhaps Harry's parents.  They would ensure that no harm could come to Harry himself. It would be a simple matter, then, to use the order to spread false information about Potter's whereabouts.  Discover exactly where the spies in the ranks were.

They negotiated the particulars back and forth a time or two before they settled on a solution they thought would serve nicely.

"The fidelius charm," Tom said, consideringly, looking over the old, yellowed pages of the book Albus had placed between them. The charm sounded complex, one that, as it stood, would take a great deal of power to complete, though Tom was certain he spotted a shortcut or two within the incantation and runic circle.

Tom began to sketch his modifications to the spell in the air, Dumbledore offering his own suggestion and comments here and there. After perhaps an hour, Tom took a step back, staring at their work. The variation they had created was much more efficient and powerful that the original had been. Tom was satisfied that the modifications they had made would ensure that his own knowledge of the property would not allow Voldemort entry. This could work. This could work very well indeed.

"I think this will have a remarkable chance of success," Albus said, staring at the glowing runes in front of them.

Tom nodded once in agreement.

"Now, the only question remains where the fidelius should be cast, and who the Secret Keeper should be," Tom said.

His plan would only work if the suggestion came form Albus himself. After the way the last two hours had gone, Tom was more hopeful than he would have thought possible.

"I believe that Voldemort would suspect one of my circle," Dumbledore said simply. "Especially if I am the one to cast the spell, as is only logical if we intend to use the Order as the source of most of the misinformation."

"I wouldn't give the task to anyone in my department," Tom said, effecting an air of thought.

Albus shot him a look over his half moon spectacles.

"Tom, my boy, there is no need to play coy. You are, of course, the only choice. Our mutual animosity is well known, and no one will be expecting us to work together. Besides," Albus said, his customary twinkle completely absent from his blue eyes, "if anything were to happen to Harry, I would know exactly who to hold responsible."

"Why Albus," Tom drawled, fighting his delight, "I do believe you just threatened me."

"I do believe I did," Albus said, a genial smile on his face, for all that his eyes remained cold.

Oh, Harry.  If the man's fate hadn't been sealed already, this certainly would have been enough.  The man only became more and more irrestitable the more Tom learned.

"My manor," Tom said.  "I inherited it from my muggle relatives, and I doubt Voldemort would be willing to go through the necessary steps to navigate the muggle bueorcrocy.  It is an assest listed under my...previous name," Tom said.

The thought made him cringe, but it really was the best solution. Voldemort refused to acknowledge that part of his past.  There was no way the man would go looking into Riddle affairs, not if he had a choice.

"Yes," Dumbledore said with a smile.  "Yes, I think that will do nicely.  I will meet with Lily and James this afternoon, convince them this really is all for the best.  Getting young Harry secured as quickly as possible is the only way to ensure his safety."

Tom nodded in agreement, keeping his expression grave.

"We should cast the charm first, to ensure that it works as we suspect."

Albus nodded.

"I will speak with James and Lily at once.  With them on board, it should not be difficult to convince Harry.  The charm would be the most powerful if cast under the light of the moon.  I imagine that Lily, at least will insist on being present."

"Best to bring them all," Tom said, considering the matter.  "As soon as we are certain the enchantment has taken and works as we suspect it should, then we can get Mr. Potter and I settled in."

"You plan to stay with Harry?" Albus asked.

"Of course," Tom said.  "I don't wish him to be alone, in case the worst should happen.  Since you are unavailable, what with your obligations to the school, I think we can both agree that I am the next best choice."

"True," Albus said.  "Very well.  Tonight?  Just after moonrise?"

Moonrise would be at a little before eight pm.  That would give Tom just over five hours.

"That should do nicely," Tom said simply.  "The manor is in Little Hangleton.  Please, feel free to examine the property if you desire.  I myself plan to arrive after I'm done at the ministry to ensure the place is habitable."

That was that.  Plans arranged, they bid each other a polite goodbye before Tom stepped into the fireplace once again.

* * *

A sharp crack rent the air in Little Hangleton, four figured appearing on the hill that overlooked the town seemingly out of thin air.  Had any of the residents of the town been paying attention, they would have heard raised voices and seen violent gesticulating, two of the party arguing with the third while the last looked on in silence.

But the residents were far too busy with the newest piece of gossip.  Frank Bryce, the Riddle's old caretaker, was moving away.  Retiring somewhere where the people didn't know that he'd murdered three people, for all that he'd somehow managed to get away with it.  If they weren't talking about Bryce, they were talking about the Riddle Manor.  Bryce had let it slip on his way out of town that a developer had bought the property, which had been sitting vacant for years.  Bought it and decided to tear it down and build something new in it's place.  The Hanged Man was full of gossip that night.

 And so the four oddly dressed figures working their way towards the house on top of the hill were ignored by the residents of Little Hangleton.  All save one.

Tom Riddle stood in front of the house where he had killed his muggle relatives.  The house where he had first held his wand to someone, looked them in the eye and spoken the words  _Avada Kedavra._ The first time he watched the life leave someone's eyes.

And oh, what a satisfying sensation it had been.  The people who had abandoned him to the hell that was the orphanage for a life of luxury, who had greeted him with upturned noses, who had asked how much money it would take to make him go away and never come back again.  To watch the light fade from their terrified eyes, the satisfying thud as their bodies had hit the floor.

And now?  Now the manor would be host to a whole new set of memories.

The seduction of Harry Potter. The slow solving of the most intricate puzzle Tom had ever come across.

This, this would be the place he courted the only person Tom was willing to consider his equal. This would be the place Tom would cement an alliance that would take the wizarding world by storm.

Perhaps he would make this house his permanent residence.  When all was said and done, it would hold several memories he would be eager to savor.

He watched Harry with avid eyes as he approached, ignoring the others.  They were unimportant.  A means to the end that stood before him. And oh, what a glorious end it was.

"I can take care of myself!" Harry shouted at two figures who could only be his parents.  "This is completely unnecessary!"

Tom knew exactly which words would bring the boy to heel.  Which words would ensure that he would be drawn into the web that Tom had begun to weave, one from which he will never allow the boy to escape.  But the words would carry more weight elsewhere.  So Tom stayed where he qw, watching his prey as things unfolded.

"Harry," his mother says simply, walking forward, cupping his cheek in her hand, green eyes meeting green.  "Please."

His father said nothing, but reached out and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Tom couldn't see James Potter's face from this angle, but he could see Harry's.  He watched as Harry looked between his parents faces, watched his shoulders fall, the stubborn line of his jaw softening.

'Alright," Harry said, his voice resigned.  "Alright."

His mother wrapped her arms around Harry, pulling him close, his father wrapping his arms around both of them a moment later.  Tom watched them, his jaw clenched.  Ever since Voldemort had appeared, feelings he'd long thought gone had been resurfacing.  Looking at the Potters now, he couldn't help but wonder what it was like.  To be wrapped in the embrace of parents who cared for their child above all else.  To value that love enough to sacrifice his own desires to alleviate their fears.

Tom shook off the odd feeling, taking strides towards the small group of people on the lawn.  He saw the exactly moment Harry saw him, watch those green eyes narrow and fill with anger.  Tom gave him a sharp smile in return, and the glare grew.

Tom's grin grew.  This would be a challenge.  The kind of challenge Tom hadn't had in decades.  He would be victorious.  That much wasn't in question.  But Harry would make him work for it.  Still, the victory would be all the sweeter for the waiting.  Tom was certain of that much.

There was the sound of fabric trailing across the ground, and Tom turned to see Albus approaching, wearing a set of violet robes that passed as sedate for the man in question.

"Is everything ready, Tom?"  Albus asked.

Tom nodded.

"The house has been restored and cleaned.  I purchased new furniture.  It's a bit bare, but it's livable.  At least this way Mister Potter will have some input in his living space for the forseeable future."

"That will be some small comfort, at least," Albus said simply.

"I've placed wards," Tom said.  "The bare minimum.  I didn't have time for anything more elaborate, and I didn't want to risk interfering with the charm."

Tom would see to the deficit after the charm had been cast.  A ward stone was a necessity, and if Tom was going to be live here for any protracted amount of time, then he would be establishing blood wards as well.

"A wise precaution," Albus said.  "Shall we see to the ritual while the Potters are...indisposed?" he said delicately.

Tom had done a great deal of preparation already.  To finalize the preparations for the ritual took only a quarter of an hour.  By the time they had finished walking around the property and reviewing everything, the Potters were waiting for them.  James Potter and Harry were off to one side, deep in conversation, James' arm around his son's shoulder.

Lily Potter, however, was directly in their path, her arms crossed and her green narrowed in suspicion.

"Tom Slytherin," she said, meeting his gaze squarely, staring at him with a familiar defiant expression.  "You are a stranger to me, a political adversary of a man I admire, and an ally of people who consider me less than human.  Why should I trust you with my son?"

Albus began to speak, but Tom held up his hand.  Clearly, Harry had come by his attitude honestly.  Tom wanted to persuade Lily Potter himself.  It would serve him better in the long run, and would be good practice for dealing with her son.

"Mrs. Potter," Tom said, "While it is true that Albus and I have never seen eye to eye on a number of issues, and that we are political adversaries, we are in complete agreement when it comes to Voldemort.  The man must be stopped.

"As for your accusations as to my own political views on muggles and muggleborns, I am afraid that I must disappoint.  I am a traditionalist, it is true.  But I am no blood purist. I myself am a halfblood," Tom said.  "Why would I subscribe to an ideology that would make me a second class citizen?"

Lily Potter looked somewhat surprised, but it was nothing compared to the expression on Albus's face.  The man looked completely blindsided.  Had Tom been alone, he would have smiled.  Excellent.  It was working.

"Slytherin?  A halfblood?" Potter said, a shrewdness in her eyes.  "Your forefather must be rolling in his grave."

On the contrary, Salazar was exceptionally proud to finally have a worthy heir.  Power was more important than blood to the Hogwarts founder.  And power Tom had in spades.  Still, there was no reason to reveal as much to Mrs. Potter.  Not when the thought of his ancestor's enmity would help to win her approval.

"I have seen what pureblood fanaticism leads to," Tom said, not bothering to fight his sneer at the thought of the Gaunts.  "It is obvious to me that intermarriage will lead only to the death of the magical community.  I have made myself familiar with the muggle science 'genetics' and find it's implications truly worrying."

Lily Potter lifted one eyebrow.

"It isn't often I find a wizard referring to muggle science, let alone one who calls himself a traditionalist," she said.

"It is the hight of arrogance to ignore the advancement of muggles," Tom said.  "Not only does it leave one ignorant of solutions that muggles have discovered that could apply to wizarding problems, it is reckless and dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Lily Potter asked him.

"Dangerous," Tom repeated, refusing to elaborate.  Instead he met Lily's gaze squarely.  "Muggleborn witches and wizards are essential to the survival of magical society," Tom said.  "Anyone who thinks otherwise is a shortsighted, prejudiced imbecile.  I may be many things, Mrs. Potter, but an imbecile is not one of them."

He almost had her.  Just a little more, and he would have her bent to his will

"I am not a selfless man, Mrs. Potter," he said.  This much honesty would sever him well here.  "I am ambitious and unscrupulous and cunning.  I have political ambitions, as I am certain Albus has told you.  Your son's continued safety is in my best interests.  Protecting the only son of a powerful, well-liked family will only serve those ambitions."

Lily Potter gave him a thin, dangerous smile.

"I can assure you, Mister Slytherin, that if anything were to happen to my son, your ambitions will be the least of your concerns."

Tom cocked his head to the side, considering her seriously.  Lily Potter was considered to be the brightest witch of her age.  Not just brilliant, but skilled.  Given her work, Tom had no doubt she could inflict damage with spells and charms he had never heard of.  She couldn't kill him, of course. No one could.  But this was a witch it would certainly be in his best interests to take seriously.

"I believe you, Mrs. Potter," Tom replied.

"Good," she said shortly.

That seemed to settle the issue, as far as Lily Potter was concerned. With one last, hard look at Tom she stepped back and turned toward her family, reaching out and grabbing her son's hands in her own. She turned to Albus, her jaw firm.

"Let's get this over with, Albus."

"Of course, Lily."

Tom and Albus took their positions in the ritual circle they had constructed around the house, and Albus raised his arms to the sky, his robes falling and leaving his forearms exposed, his wand held high in the air. Then he began to chant.

Tom could feel the moment the that the charm began to take effect. The magic surrounding the house swelled, and Tom could feel the wards he had establish that morning shifting slightly under the strain of the new magic. The runes slowly began to glow, growing brighter and brighter with each word Albus spoke. As he shouted the last lines of the incantation, the runes flashed, blindingly bright. When the light had faded and Tom's eyes had adjusted, he turned his attention to the manor before him.

To Tom's eyes, it looked exactly the same as it had before the charm had been cast. The only difference that he could see was the absence of the runes, consumed by the ritual. Still, whether it had succeeded or failed, Tom could not tell.

He turned instead to other people on the hill, only to be met by confused stares, and an impatient glare from Harry.

"Is this some kind of joke?" James asked. "I mean, I thought that we were here to see the place, not to hash out the details of whether or not we were going to go through with this thing?"

Albus turned to face Tom.

"Well, Tom?" Albus asked. "I must say, it is a poor show of trust to have lied about the location of the property."

Tom threw back his head and laughed. It had worked. It had worked perfectly. Even the modifications that he and Albus had made to the charm had been incorporated perfectly. And Tom's own modification to the ritual circle had gone without notice by the headmaster. Now that the spell had been cast successfully, Albus would never know. Not unless Tom chose to tell him.

Tom ignored the protests of the others and stalked towards Harry, a smile on his face. Harry glared at him, his jaw tight, his hand clenched around his wand. He held his ground as Tom approached, not even moving when only a few scant inches separated them.

Tom could sense every place they weren't quite touching, and he wanted more than to take one more step, bringing him entirely into Harry's space. To press himself up against the line of Harry's chest.

Not yet. Not yet. But soon. Soon he would know what every inch of that body tasted like, what it felt like to have the boy under him.

Instead Tom bent his head, until his mouth was right beside Harry's ear. He exhaled and watched in satisfaction as Harry shuddered ever so slightly.

"Riddle Manor is located on the hill overlooking the town Little Hangleton," Tom whispered into his ear.

Harry let out a yelp of surprise before glaring at Tom. Yet through it all, he did not move.

Perhaps this would be easier than he thought.


End file.
